


Failure

by littlemisscurious



Series: Drabble-Sunday [7]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Attack, Comfort, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Hurt, blame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisscurious/pseuds/littlemisscurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part of Drabble-Sunday II over on my tumblr;</p><p>Prompt: Paula gets hurt while out alone, Tom blames himself</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failure

 

With worried eyes, Tom placed his phone back down onto the sofa next to him before he emptied his glass, the golden liquid burning slightly as it ran down his throat. It was almost 2 am and Paula had never been out that long since they’d become a couple. Of course she still wanted to spend time with her friends but she was always home earlier, craving for their shared bed, his touch, and his embrace.

When the screen of his phone lit up again at the touch of his finger, mere two minutes had passed and he growled quietly, annoyed at himself for being so desperate to have her back. She was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions and that included when to come back home after a night out with her friends. Nevertheless, he typed a quick message and sent it off.

«Miss you, love. Will you be long? xx»

Only seconds later a quiet knock echoed from the door and he jumped up, a wide smile on his face, although he wondered why she did not simply use her key to open the door herself. Covering the few metres to the front door, he unlocked it and beamed at his girlfriend. “Hey, did you forget yo-…Paula?? Paula, what happened? Oh my god, come here. Come inside.”

Her hair, normally blond, almost golden in the pale light of the street lamps, was dirty and messy, leaves and small chunks of earth sticking to each strand. A faint trail of blood ran down the side of her face, its origin a small wound on her left temple. She shivered and almost stumbled over the small step in front of the entrance before Tom caught her and carried her inside. Still, she did not speak a word.

 

“Honey, what happened? Talk to me, please,” Tom begged, scared and worried beyond measure, as he placed her carefully on the soft, cushioned sofa. Slowly, she looked up, seemingly confused for a moment about where she was and, especially, who he was. “Hey, it’s me love. It’s me, Tom. You’re home, you’re safe. It’s alright.” The words tumbled from his mouth like rocks rolling down a scarp while his fingers scrambled for hold on her torn clothes, scared of hurting her more than she already had been hurt.

Anger rushed through him; anger at those who did this to her but also anger at himself. Why had he not checked earlier? Why had he not called and ordered a taxi to pick her up? Tears filled his eyes but he blinked them away while he kneeled in front of the young woman. For a moment her eyes fluttered close and she grew limp under his touch. “Paula, hey…stay with me love. Come on, open your eyes.”

One hand gently patting her cheek, he fumbled for his phone with the other and dialled the number for an ambulance.

***

“Daddy?” Emiliana’s voice was only a mere whisper as she stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking at her father kneeling on the floor amidst a sea of silver glass and golden Scotch.

“Emmy, please stay where you are. There’s glass everywhere, I don’t want you to get hurt,” Tom replied, his back still turned towards his daughter. He did not want her to see his tears, the pain he felt at the thought of Paula, now safely in their bed upstairs, having been hurt.

“Daddy, did you hurt yourself?,” the little girl asked, her small voice laced with worry. Slowly, Tom shook his head, ignoring the shard of glass that had gotten stuck in the tip of his finger.

“No, I’m fine, sweetheart. I’ll just tidy this up and then I’ll come to tuck you back in.”

 

The padding of her naked feet on the tiles in the hallway grew fainter and fainter with every step she took away from him until it was muffled by the carpet on the stairs.

Quickly, he glanced behind himself to ensure he was alone again ere new tears started falling once more, mixing with the golden liquid surrounding him. Quiet sobs shook him and he did not feel the splinters of glass digging into his flesh as he pressed his hands against the floor to keep himself from falling over.

_Why was he incapable of protecting the woman he loved? Why did it happen to him again and again?_

Tom hissed quietly as the alcohol sunk into the tiny wounds now covering his palms and his anger flared up once more. Only the thought of his children upstairs kept him from screaming, kept him from taking another one of his precious crystal glasses to shatter it on the kitchen tiles, right next to the other one.

 

Slowly, he stood up and tiptoed over to the sink to clean the wounds and get the glass out of his hand. It burned and stung, only adding to his wrath against himself and whoever was responsible for the wounds and bruises covering Paula’s body. Quickly, though, he tidied up the mess he’d made, his pyjama bottoms drenched in Scotch, the smell of the alcohol making him sick as he walked upstairs.

He did not stay long in Emmy’s room, excusing himself with needing to get changed and looking after Paula. The little girl nodded and looked after him with tearful, grey eyes as he left her room with a hanging head, wondering if it was her doing that her daddy was so sad and angry.

 

Paula was still awake when Tom entered the bedroom and he looked at her sadly as he took of his stained clothes. As he passed her on the way to his wardrobe her hand stretched out towards him and the touch of her fingers against his wrist was like an electric shock amidst the depressing calmness the entire house seemed to be shrouded in.

“Tom. Come here.” It was a whisper, nothing more, but he listened and stepped towards the bed, biting his lip to keep new tears at bay as she moved over to make room for him on her side. Wordlessly Tom slipped under the sheets beside her, his big, blue eyes roaming over her face, trying to read from it despite the darkness in the room.

 

Her skin was hot as she pressed herself against him, her nails digging into the flesh at his back as if she was holding onto a buoy in the stormy sea. He, on the other hand, was scared to touch her, afraid that he might hurt her even more than she had already been hurt that night.

“Tom, please.” Her voice was quiet and hushed and he could hear the tears falling from her eyes more than see them. “Please hold me,” Paula begged again, lifting her head to look into his eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Tom breathed in reply, his hand still hovering a few inches over the soft skin of her waist.

“You won’t. You can’t.”

He had almost felt like laughing if the situation had not been that grave. Even if he was unable to hurt her, he couldn’t protect her from it either.

 

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered, a quiet sob escaping his lips while his hand now rested on the naked plane of her back. He could hear her sniff quietly and her warm breath tickled his chin.

“This wasn’t your fault, Tom. You hear me?” She waited for him to look at her before she spoke again, “This was _not_ your fault.” He searched for the ‘but’ in her big, blue eyes but couldn’t find it. Even in the cut on her lip, the bruise under her eye, and the small wound on her left temple, he could not find the big accusing ‘but’ he was waiting for. She really did not blame him.

 

_Then why did he still blame himself?_


End file.
